Her mother’s scent pricked and tickled Saskia’s nose so that she had no choice but to sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. The sneezing spree was in fact a godsend, because it stopped Saskia from physically harming her mother, which was what she really wanted to do. How did one let the past be the past when the past was always present?

Using all the strength she had to remain calm, Saskia said, ‘He waited to exact his revenge. He raised me; he seemed to love me; he called me “Sassie” … but all the while he was waiting, biding his time, waiting for me to turn fifteen. Why would he wait until then, Mother?’

‘He loved you, Sassie … he loved me—’ her mother said, her arms beginning to flail, trying to push the truth away.

‘Why did he wait for me to turn fifteen, Mother?’

‘He loved us! He was a good father to you!’

‘He made you think that all was forgiven for fifteen years. And then he punished you through me. Your husband made sure that what you had created would be broken, useless and unwanted – that his revenge would be complete and lasting.’

‘You were going to tell him, weren’t you?’ her mother said, suddenly and oddly composed.

‘Tell him? Tell him what?’

‘The truth,’ her mother said.

Saskia was afraid that she was losing her mother to a train of thought she could not follow.

‘The truth would have destroyed him,’ her mother explained.

‘The truth? Him?’

‘You were going to tell him. I could see it in your eyes that day you came here with the picture and the yearbook.’

Saskia finally realised what her mother was so afraid of. ‘You’re worried about Emil Coetzee. You are many years too late, don’t you think?’

‘I couldn’t let him know the truth, you understand,’ her mother said. ‘I couldn’t let you destroy him – such a beautiful thing – and so I saved him,’ her mother said triumphantly.

It took some time for the words to sink in. ‘You saved him? How did you save him?’ The floor felt uneven beneath Saskia’s feet as her world tilted off its axis.

‘I made sure to get to him before you did, dear,’ her mother said, an intelligent glint in her eye.

The import of what her mother had said fell on Saskia and the full weight of it sunk her to the floor.

‘Mother, what have you done?’